Creeping

I swear he doesn’t want me around but I still find myself creeping
On broken glass and bits of hope I find that he keeps leaving
Like trails of honey, or bits of dew, each bit has me dreaming
Of patching wounds, forgiving fails, and maybe keep on breathing
On every word he’ll ever write since it always stops the bleeding
Where in my heart, it beats for him, and love is always leading

© Delia Ross. 2020


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